


Methos Chronicles 6

by Helis_von_Askir



Series: Methos Chronicles [6]
Category: Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helis_von_Askir/pseuds/Helis_von_Askir
Summary: Was he always the oldest?
Series: Methos Chronicles [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1350058
Kudos: 21





	Methos Chronicles 6

**Author's Note:**

> The good thing about Homeoffice is that I now have more time to write. I just hope it doesn't last too much longer.  
> So, have fun and everyone stay safe at home.  
> I don't owe anything aside from my OCs.

“Well, I’ve got to say, Old Man, that was fantastic.” Joe Dawson said and leaned back in his chair. “Where the hell did you learn to cook like that?”

“Oh, you know, here and there.” Methos replied with a shrug.

“So if this whole artist thing isn’t going to work out, you can always become a chef.” Richie pointed out.

“The artist thing, my young friend, is working out very well, thank you very much. Besides I never earned my money as a chef, I only do that as a hobby.” Methos told him.

Amanda laughed. “Really, you’re telling us that in five thousand years you never, not once, worked as a cook?”

“That’s not what I said.” Methos replied.

They all laughed at that. No one believe him, they never did. But it was true, kind off. Whenever he had been a cook he had not got paid, slaves didn’t get paid, they didn’t even have a say in anything about their lives. He wasn’t a kitchen cook often, though. Most of his owners had had found other uses for him.

“What I was wondering, since when yare you the oldest Immortal?” Murron wanted to know. “I mean, you weren’t always, right?”

Methos smiled sadly. “No, I wasn’t.”

Constantinople, 663 AD

Getting up before sunrise was not and would never be something Methos was overly fond of. Why get up when not even the sun had made it out of bed?

But as a physician he had to get up when his patients need him and not when he felt like it. But necessity made you a lot of things. Like not get roaring drunk every day, even Immortal like him needed breaks from alcohol now and then. Needed the time to get the alcohol out of their system, not nearly as much as putting it in, but still, it could be inconvenient.

Right now he was setting the broken leg of a young noble who had taken a bad fall. Methos did not ask how it had happened. Such questions could be dangerous in a city like Constantinople.

“It is a clean break and will mend in about two months but I must stress the importance of keeping any weight off it for the entirety of that time.” He told his patient and more importantly his patient’s parents.

“Two months in bed? Surely you jest. I have important matters to attend to.” The young noble said angrily.

Methos suppressed a sigh. Youth always thought itself invincible. “If you walk before it is fully healed you risk permanent damage to the leg, my Lord.” He replied patiently.

“We will make sure he will be resting, Master Anthemius.” The father spoke up, giving his son a long look that the young man could not hold.

Knowing that that was all he was going to get, Methos gathered his tools and bid the family a good day. The sun had risen while he had set the broken leg. The family would send some money in a couple of months, maybe, if they were satisfied with the result. Or not, one could never tell with nobility.

When he returned to his home, the first patients of the day were already waiting for him. It looked like it would be another long day.

The last patient left long after the sun had set. Constantinople may be at peace with its neighbors right now, well, more or less, but there were still a million ways for mortals to injure themselves or get sick. And most taverns had at least one knife-fight per night. Sometimes Methos wondered why he bothered.

He had not always been like that. Sometimes there were long periods of time when medicine held absolutely no interest for him, but then suddenly he became aware of mortal suffering again and he wanted to do something about it. It never lasted for more than a decade or two but it always came back. Maybe he had been cursed without him knowing, like really cursed, not what scared and dying mortals and Immortals threw at him as he killed them.

Relearning all his skills as a healer had been especially difficult after he had left his bothers for the last time. For nearly a thousand years he had not helped anyone, quite on the contrary. But eventually he had regained all of it, though most had been forgotten by mortals by then.

The sudden presence of another of his kind drew him from his musings. Looking around suspiciously, his hand reached for his hidden blade all by itself.

“Peace, my friend. I only wish for a place to rest, not your head.” A woman’s voice said from the shadows.

“Rebecca, what brings you this far east?” Methos asked surprised. The old immortal woman normally stayed west of the mountains. She claimed a love for the land and its people as reason but Methos assumed that it was simply easier for her to bland in there. Here in Constantinople, though many different races came together here, she stood out with her pale skin and reddish hair. And for their kind, standing out could be very dangerous.

“Can I not merely visit a friend?” she asked back and stepped into the light that fell out of his door. As always she looked regal and wise and eternally beautiful, even in dusty travel clothes.

Methos cooked his head. “You’re most welcome, Rebecca, but no, you do not _merely_ do anything, ever.” He pointed out.

Rebecca smiled as she walked past him into his house. “Perceptive as ever. There are several reasons why I’m here. But they can wait until I have refreshed myself.”

Methos smiled too. “I have some food prepared for you. Then we talk about your reasons.”

Methos had only one servant, an elderly woman named Phila who had no family to take care of her. She kept the house clean, cooked his food and mended his clothes, washed them too sometimes. And she never commented on the comings and goings of her employer nor his visitors. Methos had chosen her mostly for that quality.

Rebecca and he retreated to his bedchamber after dinner to talk. Phil hummed a little lullaby under her breath while she cleaned away the rest of their dinner. She did not know this strange woman but if her master liked her enough to take her to his bed that was good enough for Phila. Maybe he would keep this one. Phila was of the opinion that he needed a wife sooner rather than later.

“Now what brings you all the way from your cloister to Constantinople?” Methos asked once they were seated and had some wine.

Rebecca grimaced rather unladylike. “I caught the attention of a lord owning lands nearby my place and he did not accept a no when he asked for my hand in marriage to combine our lands. I had to tragically die to get out of the wedding.”

Methos laughed. This was so unlike Rebecca that if someone would have told him he would not have believed it. She normally killed such fools not run away from them.

“Oh, hush.” Rebecca chided, but there was a smile on her lips.

“What are you going to do now?” Methos wanted to know when he calmed down again.

“Well, I left everything to my dear niece who is but a child and lives here in Constantinople with her family. A friend of mine is taking care of the cloister until she is old enough.” Rebecca explained.

Methos leaned forward in his chair. “And let me guess, she’s your spitting image.”

Rebecca smiled and leaned forward too. “Of course, she’s my niece.” She covered the last bit of distance between them and they kissed.

Methos pulled her onto his lap, pulling her dress up and, when they broke the kiss, over her head. Her underclothes quickly followed. “More beautiful than ever.” He breathed.

Rebecca chuckled and started to undo his shirt. “Flatterer. I look as I always do.”

“And you’re always beautiful.” Methos stood up with her in his arms and carried her to the bed. “You will stay?” he asked as he laid her down.

Rebecca nodded. “For a while.”

Rebecca was lying on his chest and Methos absentminded played with her hair. The last few hours had been more than pleasurable but now it was time to get back to business.

“Why are you here?” he wanted to know. “I mean, the real reason.”

“I told you, I needed to get out of France for a bit.” Rebecca replied, playing it a bit too innocently.

“Yes, but why are you here, with me? You could have gone to a number of places.” Methos pointed out.

Rebecca sighed and turned her head so she could look him in the eye. “En-me-nuna lost his head near Lyon a year past.”

Methos hd to take a few moments to let that sink in. The Sumerian had been around for a long time, longer than Methos by a good number of years. And unlike Methos, he had never made a secret out of his age, therefore painting a large target on his back. It should not have come as a surprise that he had finally run into someone who had been better or had had just more luck on that day. But it did, Methos had thought the old bastard would be around until the sun fell from the sky.

“Who took his head?” he finally asked. He was not going to go after that man or woman, he just wanted to know. En-me-nuna was not Lilith, after all.

“Graham Ashe. They were fighting over a woman, the way I heard it.” Rebecca told him.

Methos laughed humorlessly. “Figures. Thanks for telling me in person.”

Rebecca laid her head back down on his chest. “Of course, but you know what that means.”

“That I’m probably the oldest now.” Methos sighed.

“Probably?” Rebecca echoed.

Methos shrugged. “It’s a big world out there. Who knows maybe there’s someone still older than me? Somewhere in the east maybe. But I better stop using Methos for good.”

“Yes, you better. News like this travels fast.” Rebecca agreed.

Rebecca stayed with him for a couple of months before moving in her own newly purchased house. For rich widows there was always a house somewhere.

Methos kept on with his life, but the news Rebecca had brought refused to lie still. He was the oldest now. But deal. Hardly anyone knew the truth about him, right? Soon enough the name Methos would be forgotten. Or so he kept telling himself.

It was a year later when the first challenge came. Some young Immortal named Faisal of Fes, not even a decade into his immortality, who wanted to make a name for himself by taking the head of the oldest Immortal. His teacher had been telling him stories, including the one where En-me-nuna lost his head and passed the title on to Methos. Or something like that.

There was no other choice but to accept the challenge and thus Methos found himself outside of the city’s might walls on a dreary morning, annoyed and angry in equal measures.

“You know we don’t have to do this.” He tried to reason with Faisal.

“Yes, we do. There can be only one.” Faisal replied and attacked. It was not a long fight. The young Immortal was not bad but too rash, he had not yet mastered the art of patience, something he would never learn now.

When Methos disarmed him and put his blade at his throat, Faisal looked genuinely surprised that it had turned out that way. But he did not beg for his life, Methos could appreciate a brave front. With one stroke he beheaded the other man.

There was not much of a Quickening. Methos even remained on his feet. When he turned back towards the city gate he saw Rebecca standing there. She head watched the whole thing from the wall.

“I’ll send someone to the Muslim Quarter to have him buried.” She offered.

Methos nodded his thanks and went home. He had to leave Constantinople. If a new Immortal like Faisal could find him so easy, others would not be far behind. He might defeat a dozen or more but one day someone would get luck and he would lose his head. And he was still too fond of his head to risk it. It was a shame, really, he liked the city. Maybe he would return again in a few centuries.

Present Day

“And I’ve been running from challenges ever since.” Methos finished. “Worked quite well for me so far.”

MacLeod made a face but didn’t say anything. He really shouldn’t judge anyone for not wanting to fight. He was learning that he couldn’t dictate how others lived.

“I ran from my first challenged too, in oh, 853, right back to Rebecca.” Amanda said somewhat wistfully.

“Oh, that was you?” Methos asked. “Rebecca would never say.”

Amanda stared at him. “You…and Rebecca?...No, just no.”

St. Anne, France, 853 AD

Rain was pouring down from the heavens as if determined to start a new flood and not for the first time Methos asked himself why he had come to France again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t know the weather would be like this and still he was here.

He was on his way to Spain and since he liked ships even less then bad weather, crossing France was his only way to get there.

At least he would spend the night dry and in a clean bed. Rebecca’s abbey wasn’t far off and she would offer him hospitality, he hoped. Ethos hadn’t seen her in nearly two hundred years, since he had to leave Constantinople. He had traveled nearly all of that time to make people forget he even existed. If no one could find him, at one point they would start believing he was just a myth, a story, something to entertain children with.

When he felt Rebecca’s presence wash over him, he reflexively reached for the sword at his hip. He did not draw it but it stayed on the pommel until he saw Rebecca come down the stairs to greet him. By the gods, but he had grown suspicious of everyone in the last couple of centuries.

“Well met, my friend.” Rebecca smiled at him as he got off the horse.

Despite his exhaustion he forced a smile on his face too. Well met, indeed. I apologize for arriving unannounced but I am in need of some shelter until this weather passes. If you will have me.”

“Of course I will, come in. You’re always welcome in my house…” She trailed off waiting for him to supply a name.

“Ivan of Kiev, for now.” Methos told her with a bow. “At your service, my lady.”

Rebecca put him into her own rooms. Her servants knew better than to talk about anything that happened within the walls of the cloister. She had prepared a baht for him and had then joined him even though she had already bathed earlier. They did not get to actual washing for some time.

“Won’t your servants be scandalized?” Methos asked afterwards when he was washing her hair.

Rebecca leaned back into his hands. “No, jealous, maybe.”

“My, my, aren’t you a naughty girl?” Methos grinned.

She splashed water in his face and laughed. “You have no idea.”

They were woken the next morning by panicked shouts for Rebecca coming from the courtyard.

“Who is that?” Methos wanted to know annoyed. “It she wants to challenge you, tell her to come back at more convenient time.”

Rebecca swatted his shoulder and quickly put on a robe. “She’s my student. She left only a short while ago.”

“Then either send her away again or invited her in, but make her stop making so much noise.” Methos muttered and buried himself deeper under the blankets.

Rebecca just shook her head and hurried outside.

It didn’t Rebecca take long to return. But she did not come back to bed. “My student got challenged and got scared.” She told him.

“And she decided to run back to mother. Not all that stupid then. But I assume you told her to man up and kill the other Immortal.” Methos said from under the blankets.

“Not in those exact words, but yes.” Rebecca nodded. “And speaking of manning up…time to get up, Ivan.” She pulled the blankets away. Methos grumbled under his breath but he did get up.

“Slave diver.” He told her while he gathered his clothes.

“Oh, do shut up. I always took very good care of my slaves.” Rebecca said and waited until he was fully dressed before accompanying him to the stables.

“You know you can stay here for as long as you want.” She offered.

“I know, but I need to be on my way. I have a few friends waiting for me in Madrid.” Methos said. “Besides, it’s warmer there too.”

Present Day

Running up the steps to Sacre Coeur, Methos felt the presence of another Immortal. It seemed nowadays he couldn’t even go for a run without bumping into another Immortal. At least they were on Holy Ground.

Looking around he saw a man of average height stride towards him and Methos relaxed just the tiniest bit. “Hotep,” he greeted the other man with a nod.

“Methos, so good to see you.” Hotep replied with a smile. “How long has it been? Eleven hundred, twelve hundred years?”

Methos nodded. “Something like that. What brings you to Paris?”

Hotep shrugged. “It seems every other Immortal is in Paris these days, but I’m here on business.”

“In a church?” Methos asked.

“A little break to clear my head. “Hotep laughed. “What about you? You live here?”

“For the moment.” Methos replied shortly. “You know how it is. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat but I have an appointment to keep.”

“Of course, I do too.” Hotep said. “Maybe we can meet for a drink later, catching up on old times.”

Methos nodded. “Maybe.”

Methos returned home and took a shower. He had been quite surprised to find Hotep here in Paris. In the past the Egyptian Immortal had only shown disdain for European and later US culture. Not that Methos could entirely blame him.

And now he had business in Paris? Hard to believe, but then strangers things have happened. He pushed the thought of Hotep away and toweled himself off. Murron had invited Joe and MacLeod over for dinner. And MacLeod had invited Amanda to come along. Which meant Methos had to be done with cooking before they showed up. Amanda liked to help cook, she just wasn’t very good at it.

With dinner over they all retired to the living room to finish the bottle of scotch MacLeod had brought along.

“Good stuff.” Joe said appreciatively then turned to Methos. “You know I was in HQ today. Did you know Hotep was in town?”

“Yes, I already ran into him.” Methos replied calmly.

“Who’s Hotep?” Amanda wanted to know.

“The second oldest Immortal still around.” Joe told her but kept his gaze on Methos.

MacLeod looked surprised and then worried. “Is he after your head?”

Methos shrugged. “I don’t know. He hasn’t been the type for it before.” Not that he really was the second oldest, in reality he wasn’t even top five, barely in the top ten.

“Yeah, but he hasn’t been the type to visit Europe before, either.” Joe pointed out.

“Oh, Joseph, you aren’t worried about me, are you?” Methos teased.

Joe smiled into his glass. “Well, writing your closing report would be tedious, so I’d prefer you keeping your head.”

“I’m planning on it.” Methos told him. “Don’t worry.”

“I worry.” Murron said. “If the guy’s after your head, shouldn’t we leave, at least until he’s gone?”

“I did that for a good long while in the past.” Methos stated. “I’m bored of that. Besides, we don’t know for sure that’s what he’s here for. He could have offered the challenge when we saw each other, but he didn’t.”

Of course that didn’t mean anything, not really. Hotep could have decided to play with Methos for some twisted reason or other. And Methos’ gut told him that Hotep had come indeed for his head. His instincts were seldom wrong. And he really was tired of running. He had done that for over two hundred years and it had gained him nothing.

Methos and Murron were getting ready for bed when Methos’ cell rang. It was his official one, the one he used for his customers and stuff. He didn’t recognize the number but that didn’t mean much.

“Yes?” he asked as he picked up.

“I never too you for an artist, Methos. You are full of surprises.” Hotep told him instead of a greeting.

“Really? You call about that now?” Methos wanted to know. “Couldn’t you have waited until tomorrow?”

“I could. I could also threaten your lovely mortal girlfriend. But I decided that this was less rude.” The other Immortal said.

Methos grew very still. “How thoughtful of you. Where and when?”

“One hour, Dome d’Invalides.” Hotep instructed.

“I’ll be there.” Methos assured him and ended the call.

“He challenged you.” Murron stated. “Why now?”

“I don’t know.” Methos sighed. “Maybe he’s bored. I’ll be back soon.”

“You sound very confident.” Murron sounded scared.

Methos smiled at her. “I am. I know I’m better than him.”

“He is the second oldest.” Murron pointed out.

“Officially, yes.” Methos replied.

“Officially? What the hell does that mean?” Murron wanted to know annoyed.

“Not every Immortal likes to show off about their age. Especially women.” Methos said and gave her a quick kiss. “Now I need to rush.”

It was a cold night, but at least it wasn’t raining. Methos strolled through the open gates into the park surrounding the dome. The place was of course deserted, it was after midnight. The gate was normally locked this time of night. Hotep had broken it open. The old Egyptian was waiting for him only few yards in.

“I’m so glad you could make it.” Hotep greeted him.

“Really? Why are we doing this?” Methos wanted to know. “Do you really want to be the oldest one?”

Hotep hesitated for a moment. “You have been the oldest long enough.” He finally said. “Now it’s mine turn.”

“Your turn?” Methos echoed and drew his sword. “Who put that thought into your head?”

“No one, I…it’s my turn.” Hotep stammered and attacked. “My turn.”

The fight was long and hard. Hotep was good, very good. After an eternity of attacks and parries, Methos managed to disarm Hotep and brought his sword to the other man’s throat.

Hotep looked at him confused. “She said I would win. It’s my turn.”

Methos cursed. He should have known. “Cassandra.” He should have taken her head on that first day back in the Horsemen camp. It would have saved him a world of trouble.

“Yes, she said…It’s my turn, that I would win.” Hotep looked at him even more confused. “Why did I believe her?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Methos told him and withdrew his blade. “Cassandra used that ability of hers on you. Thought you would be immune to that by now. After all, you’re the second oldest Immortal.”

“I’m sorry, Methos. I never…gods, I threatened your friend. I’m sorry.” Hotep stammered still on his knees.

“Save it, Hotep. Just do me a favor and head to Ethiopia.” Methos said.

“Why would I go there?” Hotep wanted to know.

“So Kanan can teach you not to fall for Cassandra’s little trick again. Unless you prefer to lose your head.” Methos pointed out, holding up his sword.

Hotep held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll go.” he sighed. “I’m sorry, really.”

Methos shrugged. “Could have happened to anyone. See you around then.” Methos left the park and head home. Tomorrow he would stark making inquiries as to where Cassandra was hiding. He hoped for her that this was a one-off or he would end her. Using Hotep to do her dirty work. He should have known that she wouldn’t just give up, but using one of his old acquaintances was just a step too far. Even for her.

Murron was up waiting for him. “Is he dead then?” she asked, trying to appear unbothered by the whole thing.

“No, it was just a misunderstanding.” Methos replied her and gave her a hug.

“A misunderstanding? How does that work?” Murron wanted to know, leaning against his shoulder.

Methos sighed. “Let’s just say, he was under the influence. He’s getting help with that. He won’t be bothering us again.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Murron sighed. “I’m glad it’s over.”

Methos took a deep breath and hugged her tighter. “Yeah, me too.”

Egypt, ca. 700 BC

Dismounting his tired horse, Methos sighed when he felt the presence of another of his kind. He had been hoping for a quiet night. He was merely passing through Egypt on his way south into the depth of Africa after a good hundred years in Persia. Methos had not planned on returning so soon but Kanan, a younger Immortal he had met in India a while back, had told him about his travels through Africa. It appeared to be a lot lager than Methos had so far believed. He had never come as far as the place where the Niles were born.

With a hand on his sword, Methos entered the inn and looked around the crowded common room.

“Methos!” a familiar voice called out. “Come, come, sit!” Nak-Te called from his place at a heavily laden table and a beautiful woman on each side.

Methos smiled and headed over, only then noticing that there was another Immortal sitting there, with a pretty young man sitting on his lap.

“The north not to your liking, Nak-Te?” Methos asked as he took a seat. He was not really in the mood for company but Nak-Te had never accepted that excuse. No was not a word the younger Immortal was familiar with.

“Too cold. All that snow.” Don’t know how the people there stand it.” Nak-Te told him and poured him some beer. “This is Hotep. Met him in Thebes. He tells me he’s nearly as old as you.”

Methos looked at the other, until very quiet man. “Is that so? Then here is to growing a lot older.”

Hotep raised his cup. “I plan on it.”

“We all do!” Nak-Te called and ordered another round of beer and more food and another slave girl for Methos. “Now, old friend, where have you been?”

Methos shrugged. “East, up in the mountains, then south of it. You should visit some day. Incredible fertile lands, riches everywhere.”

“And the women?” Nak-Te wanted to know. He always took the greatest interest in the women. One day that would be the death of him. Nak-Te was an easy man to please. He liked to fight and he liked to fuck. And he liked to do both while roaring drunk. But then he was young, he would grow up some day.

“Lush brown skin, long black hair, bottomless eyes, beautiful all of them.” Methos told him.

“Why do you travel so much?” Hotep wanted to know. “Egypt offers everything a man could want. Why go somewhere else?”

“To see what’s there.” Methos replied with a smile but Hotep did not seem convinced. But then to each their own.

Present Day

“And Hotep just left?” Joe asked suspiciously.

“He’s missing Egypt. You know how he is.” Methos shrugged unconcerned.

“Well if you say so.” Joe said but he looked like he couldn’t wait to hit the Watcher database to confirm that Hotep was out of the country.

Methos had decided to not tell Joe and Mac about what Hotep had told him. MacLeod would insist on getting involved. But Methos did not want him involved. Cassandra was not foolish enough to attack Methos directly and after Hotep had failed, she would take her time before coming up with something new.

He had already checked the Watcher database but they had lost her only hours ago in London. She was probably in hiding. That was fine with Methos. As long as she stayed hidden and far away from him, he would leave her alone. If not, well, they all lived and died by the sword.

End


End file.
